


The adventures of the Amazing Highderman

by Pingviini



Series: Deadpool wants to hang out with Spidey [3]
Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Puns, Gen, Humour, Minor Character Death, Offensive Jokes, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing, Violence, bank robberies, lame jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pingviini/pseuds/Pingviini
Summary: Prompt: Occassionally Spidey raids DPs fridge. This time he accidentally bit off more than he can chew when he ate one of DP’s ‘special’ brownies.He chugs three tall glasses of water on his way to the fridge praying it would contain anything edible and is absolutely delighted to find brownies. Sugar, his only weakness, his name written all over them. He wonders if they had been baked by Wade’s daughter, but his cravings are too strong for him to give a damn. There is plenty of them so surely Wade wouldn’t mind him tasting one. Or two. Or three. Or – you catch the drift. He really loves his sugar.Peter sits down at the table and is happily munching his way through the tray of sweets as Wade arrives to the kitchen stretching his arms.“How many have you had?” the man asks looking at the tray that had emptied considerably.“Six or seven, why?” Peter asks swallowing the mouthful feeling his heart sink as Deadpool looks at him with an awfully amused expression.“Why?” Peter repeats the question more pressingly. “What was in them? Why are you laughing?” the younger frowns his worry over having possibly eaten something very suspicious deepening remarkably.





	The adventures of the Amazing Highderman

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Various Spideypool Prompts + a few others](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906068) by [CuddlesandCommunication](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlesandCommunication/pseuds/CuddlesandCommunication). 



> Hi! And thanks for opening this work.  
> I have no fucking idea what's going on in this one and honestly when I noticed I was on the tenth page I thought to myself that this is wayyyyy too long for a one shot. SO I thought I'd post whatever I have written and write about their adventures in hell if someone is interested in reading that, haha.
> 
> Also, also thanks to cuddlesandcommunication for the awesome prompts!♥
> 
> I'm not a native speaker so there are bound to be some mistakes. Terribly sorry about that. Feel free to correct me!
> 
> Thank you for reading and comments are always appreciated!♥

A lazy Sunday morning is certainly a delicacy Peter enjoys rarely. Swatting off his alarm clock without a care in the world. Forgetting to care that there was a whole wide universe outside the closed curtains of the bedroom window. A sweet sweet distraction he had long yearned for had slapped him in the face and practically forced itself on him. He had rejected two calls from Harry Osborn and one from his aunt managing to feel only slightly guilty about it. His head is banging and it’s no wonder since he remembers emptying almost two bottles of vodka the previous night.

Upon getting into the kitchen he closes the ugly curtains there too to prevent the outside from reaching him.

He chugs three tall glasses of water on his way to the fridge praying it would contain anything edible and is absolutely delighted to find brownies. Sugar, his only weakness, his name written all over them. He wonders if they had been baked by Wade’s daughter, but his cravings are too strong for him to give a damn. There is plenty of them so surely Wade wouldn’t mind him tasting one. Or two. Or three. Or – you catch the drift. He really loves his sugar.

Peter sits down at the table and is happily munching his way through the tray of sweets as Wade arrives to the kitchen stretching his arms.

“How many have you had?” the man asks looking at the tray that had emptied considerably.

“Six or seven, why?” Peter asks swallowing the mouthful feeling his heart sink as Deadpool looks at him with an awfully amused expression.

“Why?” Peter repeats the question more pressingly. “What was in them? Why are you laughing?” the younger frowns his worry over having possibly eaten something very suspicious deepening remarkably.

“Rat poison undoubtedly as my ex-wife helped my little angel bake them. But don’t worry, you’ll probably die a quick death,” the man says shrugging as he sits down at the small table opposite to Peter.

“Next time you store something poisonous in your fridge, could you please put a note on it saying: ‘my wife poisoned this’ so I won’t eat it,” Peter groans starting to feel a panic take over him. He is beginning to feel funny. The tips of his fingers tingling and his lips going number by the second. His lung capacity reducing to one cubic centimetre.

“I’m just kidding. But I guess it serves you right because the shit that’s in those delicious bad boys wasn’t exactly easy to get,” Wade grins but Peter’s brain doesn’t receive the message.

“Oh my god, Wade. I always imagined I’d die of old age in one of these houses for old people where my grandkids would visit me too rarely and very unwillingly because I’d tell them crazy stories as my time as the Spider-Man and after they got old enough to actually realize what I was talking about they began to think I’m nuts because even my own damn kids don’t believe I’m the Spider-Man,” Peter rambles without pausing and midway grabs another brownie stuffing it in his mouth so that the rest of his very specific description of his own hypothetical death turns into incoherent mumbling.

“Stop eating them, airhead. You’re seriously the head master of the goodie two shoes high school for lame asshats if you don’t actually know that special brownies contain weed. Weed, Pete. It’s not lethal. In fact, I think it’ll do you some good to lay back once every two years or so,” Wade laughs pulling the plate of brownies away from Peter before his hand could get a chance to sneak in to grab yet another one.

“Weed?” Peter quits his hyperventilating to repeat the word multiple times.

“Yeah. I’ll pop by the store to get some snacks and then we can watch some cartoons,” Wade states getting up and Peter mirrors his movement in a haze.

“No, you can’t leave me. What if I float away in to space while you’re gone? I mean, I can’t breathe in there. Besides it’s really empty and scary in there. Of course, it’s not empty empty because there are like quadrillion stars and satellites and planets but- holy fuck, I can’t feel my legs. Do I still have legs?” Peter gasps shifting his gaze to the roof and lifting his hands to his sides as if the lower part of his body would’ve been something so repulsive he didn’t want to be attached to it any longer. “Can you check?”

“This is going to be such a good day, Pete. Just me, you, cheese puffs and Finn and Jake,” Wade answers smiling fondly at the young man in front of him. “Let’s go then, future astronaut.”

“How can I go buy cheese puffs if I don’t have legs,” Peter asks furrowing his brows.

“That is a really good question. One I’ve asked myself occasionally but one I never thought you’d have to ask. Personally, I tend to ask a friend because I’ve found out that people get seriously upset seeing a grown man with infant legs strolling around on a skateboard – maybe because it looks like I would be sitting on a baby which I, for the record, would never do  ~~in public~~ \- but people have quite the imagination. Anyhow, since you can apparently float, why don’t you just grab my hand and become my personal Spider-Man carnival balloon?” Deadpool asks offering his hand which Peter grasps for his dear life.

The brownies may or may not contain a little something in addition to weed but Wade wouldn’t burden his already on edge friend with the knowledge.

“I can be your personal counsellor on being high. I’ll guide your cute butt through this, don’t worry Webs,” he says and it is enough to soothe Peter who walks after him.

Shopping with a high person is apparently very heavy on the wallet as Peter keeps insisting he needs at least eight different kinds of candy. And after getting lost – according to his own words – for the longest time in the milk isle he also demands to buy 5 liters of milk.

Not even mentioning the dangerous guest to fetch some ice cream as Peter had gotten himself stuck in one of the freezers the second Wade’s eyes had left him.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about his next munchies as he would have his house full of treats on the aftermath. Peter is getting highly suspicious as every person in the store turns into a government spy out to get him. Wade hadn’t apologized to anyone in a long time, but he does (for Peter’s sake), apologize to the very grumpy looking man whose moustache the younger man had tried to rip off while letting him know he was onto him.

“I’m never getting a child. This is exhausting. I’m supposed to be the irresponsible one, but this story wouldn’t work if we’d both be irresponsible,” Wade says grabbing Peter’s hood on the line to the register as Peter is once again about to wander off to get the one bag of goods he had forgotten to grab.

“But you already have a kid,” Peter reminds him.

“Well, at least I’m not getting another one. That’s for sure. Because the state of my mental health is already up for debate without having to listen to two kids whining once every year as I let them out of the basement for their annual strut,” Wade jokes getting a very concerned look from the woman in front of them who pulls her young boy closer to her.

“Don’t worry ma’am. Having own kids is enough not even talking about having to torture other people’s kids as well, am I right?” he adds some fuel to the joke but apparently it did nothing to convince her he isn’t being serious. There was plenty of things wrong with Wade but he still had a lot of love to shove down his daughter’s throat albeit his parenting decisions were sometimes a little questionable but nothing harmful. At least intentionally. Besides how dumb would one have to be to admit openly to storing children in a basement. Or maybe it was one of those hiding in plain sight situations?

“Having a party?” the cashier smiles while beeping their products and Wade notices Peter had slipped some laundry detergent and bleach in his basket too and suddenly Wade is getting a bit worried about the plans the younger had for their evening.

“If you consider two men getting high and watching cartoons in their underwear a party, then yes, you could say we’re having a party,” he answers a bit distractedly as Peter had instead of packing their groceries lifted the paper bag close to his ear and began crinkling it.

“This sounds amazing, Wade. You have to try this. It’s like it would be singing to me,” he mumbles closing his eyes.

“Okay, Highderman. Start packing so that we can get out before someone calls the security on us,” Wade says snapping his fingers once or twice to attract Peter’s attention and then turns to the cashier, whose smile looked now more like a frown. “Not you though. I know you’re cool.”

“I’m sorry sir, your card declined,” the cashier says silently obviously ready to get rid of them.

“Fuck, I forgot I used all my money on drugs,” Wade huffs drumming the small counter people placed their money on. “Okay. I’ll just buy this,” he says reaching to snatch the bag of candy Peter had already opened and hands it to the woman, “and I’ll leave the rest here for a while. I’ll just drop by my bank and be right back. It’s right next door.”

“S-sure,” the woman nods unsurely, and Wade pays for the candy throwing the bag back to Peter who lifts his hands to catch it only after it has already hit him on the head.

“You’re super-fast, man,” Peter says in awe as he grabs the bag before getting pulled after Wade.

He drags Peter out from the supermarket and drags the distracted man behind him by the hand across the road and up the wide rock steps into the bank. Peter is mesmerized by his own reflection on the marble floor trying to interact with it like the birds in the funny videos online did when seeing themselves in a mirror. It is the second time Wade visits his bank and both times he had been taken over by a temptation to yell something obscene just to hear the echo bouncing around the high-ceilinged open space. This time, however, Wade resists the urge.

Wade walks Peter to the side and sits him down on a metallic bench that had been bolted to the floor. “Stay there.”

“Why? Where are you going? Are you going to rob the bank?” the younger asks so loudly Wade has to cover Peter’s mouth with his hand and he manages to give a casual smile to an old lady passing by towards the counters.  Peter licks the hand and Wade pulls it off in disgust.

“You have no idea where that hand has been,” Wilson chuckles.

“You taste like salt. Oh my god, I want chips,” Peter says wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Wade wipes Peter’s drool from his hand on the younger’s cheek. “S-T-A-Y,” he then says pointing a finger at him before marching to the registers.

“Good morning. How can I help you today, sir?” the woman behind the counter asks smiling. Before he can answer his ears pick up the recognizable sound of a gun’s safety clicking off and he deflates slightly. “Just, fucking great. You know, I should be high as a kite right now stuffing my face full of treats. I think this is a sign from the gods that I shouldn’t have drugged my friend. But I didn’t do that on purpose,” he tells the lady who looks at him face twisting with confusion.

“Sir, I’m sorry but I don’t—”

“This is a robbery! Everybody get down on the floor and don’t move if you fancy getting out of here alive!” a man’s voice echoes around the large hall. A few gunshots to the roof are followed by screaming and at that moment Wade remembers Peter.

He turns around only to see the bench empty. “Shitty titballs,” he curses to himself trying to locate his friend.

“Look, Wade! It’s the avengers,” Peter yells at him pointing at the robber wearing a Thor mask.

“Oh, Mr. Stark. Good that you’re here because I’ve always wanted to tell you that I have the hots for you. There, I said it,” Peter babbles walking towards the one in an Iron Man mask.  
“I fucking knew it,” Wade gasps in shock.  
The robbers all turn to look at each other quickly before two of them marched to the registers to hand duffel bags for the employees to fill with cash, while the other from the two remaining raises his semi-automatic rifle to point at Peter.

“Get the fuck down, boy,” he says raising his voice.

“Wait a minute,” Peter pauses and squints his eyes leaning towards the robber who leaned back apparently shocked by the lack of fear, “you’re not the Iron Man.”

“I said, get down,” the man grumbles showing the barrel of the gun on Peter’s forehead, which makes the hair on Wade’s skin stand up. He doesn’t have the biggest confidence in Peter’s spideysense at that moment.

“Touch him and I swear I’ll unalive every single one of you lowlife tittysuckers who decided that today, my day off that is, was the best day to rob a bank. If I had a time machine, fuck preventing nine eleven. I’d go back in time to punch the one, whose idea it was to come here today, in the dick and tell you to try again tomorrow, or like ten minutes from now,” Wade speaks low from his throat.

“But if you’d go back in time to yesterday and told them to come here tomorrow, then that means they’d come here today,” Peter says dragging his words oddly and Wade groans. “But that means you’re a time traveller? What’s it like in the future?”

“Five minutes ago, you used a paper bag as a music device and now you suddenly ponder over time travelling issues? You’re supposed to be on my side,” Wade says accusingly making Peter shrug.

“But he’s right,” the man with the Iron Man mask says.

“Sure, just side against me all of you. Real cool,” Wade huffs glaring at the man. “You know, fuck you,” he points at the closest robber while getting up from the floor, “fuck you,” he points at another robber who is adjusting his duffel bag, “and you,” he says pointing at the Iron Man before directing his accusing finger to Peter Parker, “and you.” Finally, he turns to the woman at the desk: “And especially you, lady.”

 _“Sorry that was a little uncalled for but I just wanted to show this is not a gender related issue. I hate both men and women equally,”_ he leans in to whisper to the woman while slipping his hand to the other side of the glass that was separating the long counter and a row of employees form the rest of the space and grabs a receipt holder spike from her desk.

“I’m going to ask you nicely: Just leave the money and go on your merry little way,” Wade says smiling and the man in a Hulk-mask chuckles adjusting his gun.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to give commands,” he says pointing the gun at Wade, “so I suggest you get the fuck down and shut up, clown.”

“Are you sure?” Wade asks with a high-pitched voice tilting his head questioningly and the man answers by clicking off the safety from his rifle. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

He throws the receipt spike at the "Iron Man" and it sinks nastily into the his knee. The man lets out a scream of pain and his trigger finger slips making the weapon in his hands spit out a short burst which’s bullets miss Peter by an inch. Each of the bullets sink to the floor cracking the shiny marble surface. The two remaining men both turn their aim at Wilson who jumps to the counter before climbing over the safe glass tumbling down on the unsuspecting woman who had been too shocked to move. Him falling on top of the woman turns out to be a happy accident since one of the bullets shot at him makes its way through the small talking holes piercing through Wade’s sweatpants and skin before coming to a halt somewhere inside his glute instead of piercing the woman’s chest as it otherwise would’ve. They fall down with the chair both yelping in surprise.

“See, this is what I call gender equality. We both took bullets for each other. Well, I took one literally and boy does it sting but, still. Good job on being strong and independent and all that,” Wade says with a tone strained by the pain burning his butt.

The woman stares at him in the eyes too shocked to say anything and stays unmoving still when Wade gets up. “And sorry about the erection. It had nothing to do with you. Not that you wouldn’t be attractive. I just have a thing for getting hurt. A real pain in the ass am I right?” the man chuckles and he can hear Peter laugh at the pun from somewhere out of his view. At least his senses were hyped up.

“Do you have those exploding paint thingies?” Wade asks from a chubby man cowering under his desk. With shaking hands, the man opens the drawer above him pointing at it from below.

He reaches to grab two before clearing his throat and yelling: “I’m going to ask you one more time to leave the money and go.”

“Fuck this, man. I bet they’ve already called the cops. Let’s just forget this clown and go-“ the shortest of the bunch says but his sentence is ended prematurely  when Wade hops on to the desk and grabs a big stack of papers from one workspace and throws them over the glass to disrupt the thugs’ vision even a little before jumping over the glass himself. He throws the small colour pellets at the two standing men who resume their frantic firing. One of the pellets miss its target but the other hits the shorter man in the eye popping nastily and splattering yellow paint all over his face. The man grunts tumbling backwards rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other is occupied handling the gun and sending bullets everywhere as the man flailed. The gun shots echo beautifully and definitely deafeningly in the almost completely textile free environment accompanied by a choir of screaming.

“I spent three hours sorting those,” the worker groans under his desk.

Wade grabs the closer robber’s weapon twisting it from his hand and up close he could see the person was actually barely a man because he looked like he was 18 years old at the highest.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear your sorry ass whining from all the lifesaving going on,” Wade retorts glaring at the man daring to peek from behind his desk just as the mercenary fires at the further thug hitting him in the arm resulting in him dropping the gun. After that he yanks the gun hitting the remaining man on the head with its butt.

“I surrender!” the one whose knee Wade had injured earlier yells from the ground holding his head as Wade’s attention shifts to him. The man kicks his own gun further away from himself shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Ahh, shit. Now, I’m going to feel like a total cunt for shooting you,” Wade hisses scrunching his nose and the scared whimper following his statement satisfies him gravely. The hall has gone silent and the only sound is the bleak and quiet echo of his steps bouncing from the walls. Well that and crunching seeing as Peter was sat down next to a little girl sharing her salty snacks and looking at the scene in front of him wide-eyed. Everyone else just followed the situation too scared to even breathe.

“Take off the mask buddy,” he orders, and the man complies slowly removing the Iron Man mask.

“Please don’t shoot me,” the thin faced man whispers from the ground. His green eyes so full of dread Wade feels like the devil himself as he lowers the barrel of the semi-automatic to the young man’s forehead.

“Apologize to the employees,” Wade says pointing at the long line of people who were now staring at them from behind the glass wide-eyed and most of them shaking.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whimpers tears forming in his big eyes.

“And now, apologise to the customers,” Wade says pointing at the people who had been too scared to flee the scene.

“I’m sorry,” the young man says again but this time sobbing heartbreakingly and talking high from his throat.

“Now, that’s the Canadian way to handle things. Well done, buddy,” Wade Wilson smiles firing the gun intending the bullet to hit the ground next to the boy’s ear to scare the living shit out of him, but the gun kicks a little more than he anticipates, and the young man roars with pain as the bullet scrapes most of his ear with it.

“Man, this is an inaccurate piece of shit. No wonder you hit me just once. Sorry about that,” Wade grimaces disarming the weapon before throwing it on the floor. “See, I apologised too. Everybody makes mistakes. What a great lesson we’ve all learned today.”

Wade goes back to the woman he had spoken to before getting rudely interrupted. “I need money. I think two hundred is fine,” he says.

“Shut up, you have another ear left, you cry baby,” he turns to tell the man.

The woman opens the register and counts two hundred with shaking hands. “The fuck are you doing? I just saved your asses, I’m not going to rob you in front of my friend. Jesus Christ has none of you ever been a part of a bank robbery? None of you even called the cops while these dumbasses were just standing there stupidly. Do I have to do everything myself?”

After spending a while trying to recall his account name he finally pockets the money sighing with relief. The day had turned out to be way too productive for an unproductive day. He had had to take care of a person with the mental capacity of a potato and teach a valuable lesson about robbing banks. Not your typical lazy Sunday morning and it had worn his non-existing temper to its limits.

“I’m sorry for all the yelling. I just really want to get high already. Have a nice day bank-lady,” he says fleeing the place with Peter before the cavalry would arrive. He had a date with Finn the human and Jake the dog and he was already running late.

“I’d like to pay for my groceries now,” Wade says to the cashier, who almost falls from her seat upon laying his eyes on him.

“What?” Wade furrows his brows and glances at Peter, who gestures towards his own face. Something that was meant as a quiet hint but executed with the subtlety of an elephant doing pottery. Wade wipes his face with his knuckles and sees red staining his skin.

And there is definitely quite a lot of it on his face since everyone around him seemed to have stopped in order to use all of their brain capacity on staring.

“No need to worry!” he says smiling. “It’s not mine. Or some of it is, I suppose?”

Apparently, it wasn’t the best answer in the world as it made the cashier faint and several people scatter from around him in a haze. Deadpool puts the money on the counter.

“Keep the rest,” he yells at the awakening cashier laying on the floor.

He tries to pack as quickly as possible to avoid any trouble possibly coming his way. He could hear the police sirens approaching alarmingly.

However, the dog in Peter’s lap is constantly trying to lick the melted ice cream from the stuff he’s trying to pack and it’s really disrupting.

“Can you take the dog off me? It really tickles when it licks my hand,” Wade asks turning to look at the small poodle and then quirking up his brows.

“Wait. Where did you get a dog?” he asks, and Peter looks like he would’ve only just realized he is holding a white poodle.

“We don’t have a dog?” he asks.

“Do you really see me with a poodle?” Wade chuckles nuzzling his nose with the dog anyway.

“I do now, but before you said anything I thought this was cotton candy. I’m slightly disappointed now,” Peter replies with a serious tone.

“Well, I guess I have a dog now then,” Wade shrugs not giving a fuck and picks up the paper bags. “I’ll name you Hamlet the Poodle.”

“No, you have to take it back, Wade,” the younger says incredulously and Wade stops on his tracks.

“Why do _I_ have to take it back? You’re the one who stole it,” he protests slapping Peter’s cheek as the man tries to eat the dogs woollen fur. “Quit drooling on it.”

Peter throws Wade his best puppy dog face squeezing the small dog against his face and Wade groans.

“God damn it. Cute poodles, my kryptonite,” he says grabbing the dogs collar to look for a tag but of course it doesn’t have one. He checks his watch to see it was only quarter to one.

“Wade Wilson,” a police officer says stepping through the sliding doors, “I’m going to have to ask you to come with us.”

“I can’t go to jail, I have a dog-baby!” Peter yelps in horror and his legs lose all the clumsiness to them as he starts running back into the store past the registers.

“Yeah, you can send me a thank you note by post. I have things to do,” he tells the officer turning on his heels to go after his mess of a friend and again he hears the distinctive click of a gun’s safety coming off.

“This is Munn, requesting back up. I have eyes on Wilson,” the policeman speaks into his radio. “You’re under arrest for wounding a man with a gun.”

“Sure, stop a bank robbery and you’re not a hero but shoot a man once and suddenly you’re a criminal,” Wade says throwing the grocery bags on the man’s face before running after Peter.

“Seize!” the cop yells after him firing a warning shot that explodes a bag of cat food Wade had just run past recovering from his shock.  
“The target is on the move. I repeat, the target is on the move! The suspect is accompanied by a young brown-haired man carrying a white poodle. They are trying to exit through the back of the store,” Wade can hear the policeman talk into his radio while sprinting after him.

“Stop now, or I’ll fire!”

“Just for the record, I’m not running from you Mr. Police-man! I’m trying to catch my friend!” Wade yells grabbing a bag of fine flour from a shelf and turning on his heels to hit it open creating a cloud of white. “So, nothing personal!”

He spots Peter running ahead of him the white poodle looking over his shoulders happily and he sprints after him tearing down every display shelf he could on his track to slow down his chaser.

Wade bashes in through the door leading to the store’s storage space stumbling into an unsuspecting employee who had been in the middle of yelling after Peter.

“Terribly sorry about that,” he says quickly after regaining his balance and gets back into his running. The quiet elevator-music of the store is the least exciting cop-chase track he had ever heard and from the top of his head he can name at least twenty songs better suited for the situation. He starts humming the song of his choice.  
They exit through a side door ending up on a narrow alleyway surprisingly still cop-free. Peter kicks off his shoes starting to climb the red brick wall holding the barking poodle on one hand.

“You’re my new arch nemesis. Damn you, Highderman!” Wade yells after him as he jumps up to grab the fire ladders. He climbs them as quickly as he can, which turns out to be a bit hard as both of his hands are sticky from the melted ice cream. Just as he reaches the rooftop he can hear officer Munn bust through the door into the alley.

~~Did he suddenly become a paraplegic or how come it took him that long to reach the alley? Explain that dickwipe. Are you even trying at this point? Or are you too waiting to finish this piece of garbage story to get high –~~

Wade Wilson stumbles on his feet tumbling down face first. Skin stinging uncomfortably at the contact with the uneven material of the surface.

“My inner Canadian is beginning to die and trust me when I say it’s not going to be the only casualty,” the man mumbles against the surface. Peter squats next to his head grimacing slightly.

“What are you running from?” he whispers setting down the squirming dog that begins licking Wade’s ear.

“My hopes and dreams,” Deadpool retorts swatting the dog away before getting up.

“I’m hungry,” Peter says eyes drooping.

“Shut up Mr. I have the hots for Iron Man (yeah, don’t think I missed that gem, traitor). Let’s go find a vet to see if Hamlet the Poodle has a chip on him. The things I do for you, Webs,” Wade says picking up the dog. “You ruined my day, asshole,” he spoke to the dog in an overly affectionate manner, “oh yes you did. I hope your owner naps your ballsacks so you can stop acting like one.”

***

“What do you mean he doesn’t have a chip? What kind of a dog owner doesn’t put one in their dog?” Wade asks a rhetorical question pinching the bridge of his nose between his fore- and index finger. Neither of them was paying attention to Peter who had taken upon himself to start freeing the poor caged animals. Grabbing the guinea pigs and setting them on the floor one by one while babbling to them frantically about their new given freedom.

“I don’t have a chip in mine, dude. I mean, just between the two of us,” the worker says lowering his voice and leaning towards Wade, “it’s a government plot to spy on us.”

“Oh, just like pidgeons?” Wade chuckles.

“Exactly! Like, I’ve never seen a baby pidgeon. I mean how dumb do they think we are, man? Birds don’t just spawn. Their birdmamas give birth to them, I’ve seen it. The babies are all naked and look like testicles with beaks. It’s super fucked up,” the greasy haired pet store worker says.

“Oh my god. I knew it,” Peter gasps dramatically opening the last of the undulate cages. He was beginning to feel seriously drowsy and the whole world had begun to turn soft and wobbly around him.

“Yeah, that’s exactly how it happens,” Wade says slowly. “Are you high? Do you have something on you?”

“Maybe. It depends. Are you a cop?” the employee asks squinting his eyes to the point they are almost shut.

“Are you?” Wade asks.

“No?” the man answers and then pauses to think. “Are you?”

“Okay, I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’ll trade the dog for all you have-“

Wade’s sentence gets cut short as the man in front of him flinches and Wade can feel some warm blood splash on his face.

“They heard about the pidgeons!” Peter shrieks as the pet store worker collapses on the spot.

Wade’s eyes travel to the large display window that had a bullet hole in it and traces the bullet track outside to the apartment building on the opposite side of the street. Time seems to slow down as Wade tackles Peter to the ground while another bullet graces his shoulder painfully.

The old-fashioned landline phone begins to ring. Wade reaches up his hand on the counter to grab it and answers clearing his throat.

“I-didn’t-check-the name-of-this-place-pet store, Wade speaking.”

“There’s no use in hiding. Because no matter who you are and where you’ll go, I will find you and I will kill you. You fucked with the wrong people,” a low grumbly voice says from the line and Wade puts the phone back on the table hanging up.

“Was it the government?” Peter asks holding his breath.

“I think it was Liam Neeson,” Wade says voice shivering, “I guess nightmares do come true.”

The phone rings again and Wade reaches to pick it up.

“I’m not here right now, so please leave your death threats after the beep,” he answers.

“You kind of hung up on me there,” the voice on the line says.

“My bad, please continue,” Wade tells him.

“I’m going to rip your bowels out from your asshole, bind them together and tie you into motorcycles so that when you drive into different directions you get turned inside out,” the voice grumbles.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you’d tie one of us down so only the other one would have to drive? I don’t mean to give unsolicited advice on how to gruesomely murder people but there would be less moving parts that way,” Wade interrupts watching Peter eat dog treats with Hamlet the Poodle.

“I’m sure you got the point, mate. You’re going to die unless you give Scrumbles back now,” the line speaks.

“Wait. Are you Canadian?” Wade gasps. “You sound Canadian.”

“Just moved here from Vancouver,” the line says after a moment of silence.

“No way! I was born there, what are the odds! So, how are you liking it here?” Wade asks twirling the phone’s chord with his finger.

“Other than witnessing a bank robbery and you kidnapping my dog it’s been okay. I don’t really like the people here.”

“ _Your_ dog? Hamlet the Poodle is your dog? That’s lucky, you see, my friend is super high and he mistook your poodle for some cotton candy and we came to this pet shop to actually try to find if he has a chip so we could track down the owner,” Wade says twisting his face upon seeing Peter had started to feed the dog like a bird would its babies.

“Really?” the line says and goes silent for a while. Wilson can hear some shuffling before the man opens up with a cough: “Well, this is a bit embarrassing given that I shot your friend and all that.”

“No, we didn’t actually know that guy at all. Normally I’d be all up in your ass for shooting someone but I’m kind of having a day off, so I’ll give myself the benefit of the doubt and say it was an accident. But If you do this again Imma come for your ass, you hear me?” Wade says quietly to prevent Peter from hearing. Peter might have been too high to realize guinea pigs weren’t exactly a part of the “wildlife” in the city but Wade doubts even Peter would count a calculated shot between the unsuspecting employee’s eyes to be an accident.

“Well that was awfully convenient. Let’s get out of here,” Wade says after locking the white poodle in one of the now empty cages.

“Bye then Hamlet the Poodle. You were my first pet and I’ll never forget you,” Peter sighs deeply gripping the small bars dramatically while the dog licks his fingers.

“Oh, a guinea pig,” Wade hums after nearly stepping on especially loud specimen. He reaches down to grab the small squeaking rodent brining it to eye level.

“My lil’ girl would love you. And Gretchen absolutely hate you. You’re coming with me little homerat. May your little lungs be full of squeaks especially at night-times,” he tells the animal who is clenching its jaw and squeaking at him. The ex-mercenary places the appropriate amount (which he doesn’t actually know to be appropriate but supposes people would spend only that much money on a pointless creature that would just pathetically scream in a cage) of money to the counter before exiting the store Peter hot in his trails.

“I can’t feel my face,” Peter mumbles palming his face clumsily with his clammy hands. “Did I use to feel it? Should I be worried?”

Wade makes a snappy soldier’s salute to the general direction of the window the probably insane Canadian immigrant was undoubtedly still waiting with his sniper rifle. He calls them an uber while stuffing the squeaking restless animal into his hoodie’s pocket.

In the meantime, Peter’s face twists oddly as suddenly, he feels like the whole world would be shaking around him. The asphalt under his feet is vibrating so violently that Peter has to check that he isn’t actually standing on jelly. With an awful crack the surface of the asphalt breaks under their feet slicing through the whole street.

“Uh, Wade?” Peter says feeling his throat go awfully dry as his eyes are stuck on the spreading crack ~~ahahahahahhahahahaha that’s what you’re going with? Please tell me there’s going to be an asphalt machine to fill that _spreading crack_? Rule 34* am I right? ~~ on the ground below his feet.

“Wade Wilson! You shall pay for the things you’ve done to me!” a low voice grumbles below the ground the sheer volume of it cracking windows. Peter covers his ears falling on his knees and Wade covers the guinea pig’s small ears.

~~Oh, come on. This is just straight on giving me the middle finger. There are so many stories of hot sex. Can’t this be one of them? It’s not too late yet. You can just uncrack the asphalt and keep that motherfucker there while I spread Pete’s –~~

“Knew I should’ve brought my katanas,” Wade groans jumping away from the crumbling asphalt to avoid falling, which is something Peter unfortunately doesn’t do. Wade closes his eyes when he hears Peter’s yell quiet down little by little. His body is tense as a statue.

~~If my Peter Parker, my little webslinger, just fell into hell, I’m done. Fast forward while I come up with something, fuck this, I’m so done.~~

***

Peter Parker opens his eyes shutting them instantly as even the dim light seems so intrusive to his sensitive eyes. His head is banging like crazy.

He tires his luck again this time forcing himself to keep them open. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust but eventually the outlines of the furniture and the room in general are tamed to their places and he recognizes it to be Wade’s living room.

He props himself up on the couch huffing in discomfort. “What time is it?”

“Oh, look who finally woke up,” Wade says very sourly from next to him. “6 am.”

Peter’s eyes dart to him instantly. “What the hell happened? Where are your legs?”

Deadpool is covered in blood and bullet holes. He almost looks like he would’ve gone through a grinder or something. Peter’s stomach is churning and hurting from its emptiness. He notices brownies set on the small coffee table in front of the sofa and instinctively reaches for them but Wade hurries to grab the whole thing.

“Don’t you even dream about touching them,” the man says glaring at him.

“Okay, jeez. No need to be so rude. Seriously what the hell happened yesterday, I can’t remember a thing,” he says lifting a hand to his face before letting himself fall back on the couch.

“Nothing much. Could you be a doll and run by the store for me? I’m having the munchies,” Wade asks dodging the question.

“I suppose.”

“You may want to go to some other store than the one closest to here,” Wade tells Peter when he gets up.

“Why?” Peter asks suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

“Wade?” Peter presses on starting to get concerned.

“I think that’s a story for another day. Let’s just say I walked through hell for you,” Wade chuckles so contently at his own joke.

“Why are you saying it like it’s a pun?”

~~The end~~

“Wade?”

~~Oh my god just stop writing.~~

~~Thank you.~~

~~The end~~


End file.
